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LONG    LANCE

to shimmer in the eastern skies we would be well
on our way—leaving the foot-hills and the snow-
white peaks of the Rockies behind us in the west
and making our way out on to the great open
expanses of the land we loved so much: the gresit,
treeless plains of the North-West.

My small brother and I were always carried in
the travail behind the horse on which our mother
rode. This travail consisted of two long poles
crossed over the horse's shoulders and dragging
on the ground behind. A little hammock made
of skins was stretched between these poles under
the horse's tail, and It was in this hammock that
my brother and I rode along with some of the
'household' effects which were packed under and
around us. We used to have great fun laughing
at one another when the horse would suddenly
swish his tail and strike us a violent blow across
the face. Sometimes it would almost blind us
and leave big, red welts on our face, but we never
cried nor complained to our mother, lest we
should be ridiculed in the eyes of the others.

We measured distance in those days by 'camps*.
A place "one camp' away would be thirty miles
distant—and 'two camps' would be sixty miles.
On our first day out from the winter-quarters in
the foot-hills we would always make 'two camps',
in order to avoid having to camp in the deep snow
in the region of the mountains*

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